


The NotSoTrivial Injury

by Ellie5192



Series: The NotSo Series [10]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows The NotSoTedious Visit in the NotSo series. They've beaten the odds many times, but he just wants to make sure she'll keep pulling miracles. Line In The Sand Tag. S/J EST. Can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The NotSoTrivial Injury

_The NotSoTrivial Injury_

 _Tag to Line In The Sand. _This little one is a bit heavier, a little more angsty. Hope you like.__

 _As always, I hope you enjoy._

 _0-0-0-0-0_

She's sound asleep when he sneaks into the mountain, down the corridor and into the infirmary. Despite the chance for a cliché middle-of-the-night encounter, she doesn't stir, and a part of him hopes it's because she's  _that_  used to someone being there. Or perhaps he's hoping that he hasn't been gone so long his presence is somehow foreign.

She's lying in the second-last bed, her head lolling to the side, facing away from the door and the glow of the nurse's station, her arm very deliberately not touching her side, mouth open and, quite adorably, almost snoring. He stands there for a moment watching her with his hands in his pockets, a soft smile on his face, and he can tell that they've doped her up, given her the good stuff and conked her out for the night. She wouldn't be sleeping so heavily if they hadn't, injury or no injury.

So he claims the plastic chair from beside the bed, puts his jacket over the back of it, takes her hand gently in his own and settles in for the night. He doesn't expect sleep, and it doesn't come, but the fact he's visiting a hospital and not a morgue is respite enough for him.

She doesn't wake for another five hours, and in that time he has had her medical report, Mitchell's mission report and Sam's very short statement brought to him, along with a bowl of salad from the commissary. He notes the things that are said plain as day, but he's more concerned in looking closer, for the things that have been avoided, glossed over or simply omitted. He's had so many years practice at writing between the lines that he knows exactly what to look for. By the time she rouses from sleep, sometime around morning, he knows just how close to death she really was, and he's staring so intently at her that, when her sleepy eyes find his, she looks momentarily startled.

"Jack"

He takes her hand back, never breaking eye contact.

"Hey sleepy head, watcha go and get yourself shot for?" he greets. It should be a light tease, a joke about the fact that she very rarely sleeps in, and she's better than a flesh wound. Instead it comes out like a reprimand, as though he's telling her off for being out cold for so long, which of course he isn't meaning to. But then, she's smart enough and experienced enough to acknowledge the accusation for what it is, and she's been around his attitude long enough to completely ignore the undertone of command in his voice.

"What are you doing here?" she asks instead, noting the rumpled Dress Blues, the discarded jacket, the half eaten tray of food sitting on the neighbouring bed. "How  _long_ have you been here?"

"Long enough"

And she knows exactly what he's implying. Every nuance.

"So ...?"

"Yeah. I know"

She only nods. They've both been military long enough to acknowledge the risks for what they are and deal with the fallout. That their relationship has changed shouldn't make that much of a difference, and yet somehow it does, and it scares them both silly to think of what that change might mean. Perhaps there is something to be said for fraternisation regulations after all, she thinks.

"I don't remember it ever being this hard" he mutters, loud enough for only her to hear, and it takes her foggy brain a moment to compute, and another moment to recognise the similar train of thought he's on, and the fact that this quiet admission is both an apology and a quest for absolution. She grants it without words, because she's not so high and mighty to assume that starting this relationship years ago wouldn't have affected this particular part of the job. She can't blame him for being grateful for some emotional distance all these years, when she herself so often hid behind the pretence.

But a quiet, raspy "I do" slips out, and she looks him dead in the eye, willing him to understand.

He has to wonder whether it's because she's far more emotional than him, or because  _he_ was always the one getting in this much trouble. After all, he can count on one hand ( or maybe two) the number of times  _she's_  been in the infirmary close to death, but  _his_  many exploits could fill a novel or five, and she's been there for much of that history.

He's also smart enough to recognise her own admission of guilt and the fact that she's sat where he's sitting right now, both literally and figuratively, and that it can only mean the emotional tight-wire between them was a far more precarious walk for her than for him.

He decides to let his subconscious mull that one over for a while and gives her a smile, running his thumb over the back of her hand, and refusing to think of the many ways they've tried to distract themselves from each other. They've both come too far to start questioning the past now.

"You really freaked me out, you know" he says quietly, a recognition he's not quite ready to share with the world, but he'll share with her.

"I know"

And she does, of course, because without sounding conceited, the whole situation freaked her out pretty thoroughly too, and she wouldn't have given up her computer password otherwise. His miniscule nod and the firm squeeze of her hand tell her that he knows all that, and then some.

"Lam says I'll be fine, though, so long as I take it easy for a few weeks. Although, with the amount of stuff they got me mainlining I don't think I could find my own nose at the moment"

He grins at her, allowing himself to be pulled out of his emotional black cloud by her attempt at humour. He's always enjoyed her quirky jokes, particular given they're few and far between, and so often come out of left field. He likes, too, that she's allowed herself to lighten up in recent years.

They sit for a while without talking, and the nurse comes over to check her charts and the bag of fluids, but otherwise they're left undisturbed. It's Sam who breaks the silence, squeezing his hand with a tiny frown of worry when she sees he's gone off in his own little world.

"What is it?"

He breaks his staring at the wall and looks back at her, then very quickly lowers his gaze to their hands, his expression a frightening mix of worry, guilt and relief.

"Jack, what's wrong?"

She very rarely uses his given name, and certainly not usually in military settings, but he's not here as her boss, he's here as her fiancé, and right now his dark air is reminding her of the early days; of a man not quite to terms with living, but trying to be. When he answers, it's deep and deliberate, and not at all like the light-hearted Jack she knows so well.

"There are very few things that really, truly scare me Sam" he starts, holding her hand firmly, raising his gaze to hers, and she feels as though he's looking right into her soul. "Losing you is... is damn near number one"

The raw honesty of that statement slams into her like a tonne of bricks, and she fights back a sudden wave of tears, because she knows he speaks God's honest truth, and she can't deny that she might just feel the same way. She squeezes his hand back, and his expression softens a little, losing that frightening edge.

"So... I guess what I'm trying to say is... don't die. Okay? Just... please... whatever you do, don't die"

"Okay" she whispers, gripping his hand a little tighter, nodding her head once.

They never really talk about the dangers of the job, and why would they? They are soldiers who met on the frontlines of an intergalactic war, and fought that war side by side for years, the close calls and near misses becoming business as usual. They have watched countless men and women- friends, colleagues, even people they didn't really know- give their lives day after day. They've taken more lives than they ever care to think about, and they have to live with all that while continuing their work. It's a way of life they've chosen and love, but it certainly skews their perception of 'normal'.

So no, the obligatory talk about the dangers of armed combat seems rather redundant in the grand scheme of things.

Which is exactly why his plea hits her so hard, like a thousand knives, straight in the heart.

They've never questioned each other's careers, and they respect each other too much to start suggesting transfers or retirement, particularly given the state of affairs in the galaxy.

But she can't help but look at him- sitting low in the chair next to her bed, his shirt untucked, his tie long gone, stubble appearing on his chin- and think about the weight of their actions. About the impact. About the many times they've been a breath away from saying goodbye for good. About the many times they've sat by each other's bed praying to any god that will listen,  _I will do anything you want just please don't take them._

She wonders how many more miracles the universe can be expected to give them. She prays they'll never have to find out.

"I love you" she whispers, her fingers flinching against the inside of his palm.

He lets out a shuddering breath and sits forward, his elbows on his knees and her hand clutched in both of his, his lips against her knuckles. He closes his eyes for a second, shutting out the harsh reality of their lives, before he opens them again, tilts his head and looks at her with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to her hand.

"I love you... so much" he whispers back.

"And I promise to do my best not to die" she says, and she's perfectly serious despite the chance for a joke.

"I'll be here to make sure you keep that promise" he responds, his grin lightening the mood as only Jack O'Neill can.

She takes her hand from his grasp and, in a rare moment of intimacy, despite their location, places it against his cheek, running her thumb over the light prickles that are just starting to come through.

"I know you will"

And he doesn't mind sticking around for a few more days, if only to see that look- the pure, untainted love- written all over her face. Also, that blush rising on her cheeks is kinda cute too. And she'll let him look after her because, after all, a near-death experience would make any girl appreciate being doted on.


End file.
